


Genetics

by thenakednymph



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Get Together, Hurt/Comfort, Lance (Voltron) Whump, M/M, Original Character - Freeform, Torture, Whump, genetic manipulation, klance, klangst, remember that one SG1 episode?, yeah it's basically that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-04-12 06:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19126168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenakednymph/pseuds/thenakednymph
Summary: Nothing better than a little torture to get you to admit you're in love with your best friend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all want some ANGST!?
> 
> I have no idea what else to title this, but it's been "Genetics" in my files for so long I don't know what else to use. So there.
> 
> I really have no idea how to summarize this.

Lance can't get enough air into his lungs to scream as he’s tossed into his cell, landing in a haphazard pile of pain.  _ Broken ribs, _ he thinks distantly, one hand pressed gingerly to the pain. Lance is getting really sick of broken ribs. 

It takes him too long to talk himself into rolling onto his back and when he finally does his vision whites out. Everything in his chest feels like liquid fire, like his insides have been scrambled, filled with gasoline, and set ablaze. It isn't pleasant. 

“I hate...broken...ribs,” he pants shallowly, trying to forget how to breathe. He stares up at the ceiling, blinking back tears, sweat damp on his temples as he recovers from the rude manhandling. 

“Again?” Keith asks and Lance turns his head to glare at where the red paladin is sitting on the other side of the bars. Keith seems unphased in the low light but it's hard to tell through the broken nose and two black eyes. 

“That makes what now, three times?” He scrunches up his face before he can think better of it, his fingers twitching as he counts the memories.

Lance groans and forces himself to sit up, one arm cradling his chest like somehow it'll protect him. It doesn't.

Moving hurts but he wants to be near Keith more than he wants to avoid the pain.

“Yeah,” he grinds out, scooting backwards in slow, aborted movements until he's wedged into the corner of his cell, his back against the bars. He hisses, making little pained noises, trying to find a position that will cause the least amount of discomfort. Keith has moved so he’s sitting next to Lance, just a few bands of iron separating them. If Lance tries he can feel parts of them bumping together between the metal. It’s little comfort but it’s comfort nonetheless. 

Lance cradles his ribs, taking a moment to just breathe. Moving took more effort than he'd expected and he's drained, but it’s hard to sleep through the pain.

Keith lets out a breath that's supposed to be a laugh. “Congratulations,” he teases, “you're winning.” His hand slips through the bars towards Lance. “That's only twice for me.” 

Lance spares a smile that's more like a wince, dropping his hand over top of Keith's, too tired to do more. Keith turns his hand, tangling their fingers together. 

“Pretty sure that means  _ you're _ winning,” Lance pants. God everything  _ hurts _ . Keith's hand squeezes his and Lance cracks open an eye. Keith's expression has dipped into something more concerned, peeking out from behind the shelter of their usual banter.

“How bad?” His eyes are searching Lance's face and he tries to bury the pain out of reflex. It doesn't last long. He doesn’t have the willpower to hide.

Lance tries to smile but after a moment he doesn't know what the point is. 

“Bad,” he says on an exhale. He wants to say more, explain what the inside of his chest feels like, but he can't muster the energy. 

“Bad,” he says again, voice dipping low enough Keith's face shadows in concern. 

Lance can taste blood in his mouth and feels like he swallowed a handful of pennies. He tries to smile.

“But you might want to worry about that nose.” Deflection is the next best thing. “It's gonna heal crooked if you don't…” he trails off and flicks his fingers at Keith, implying he needs to re-set his broken nose. 

“I already did.” 

Lance winces and feels sick. He can't imagine having that kind of willpower. Can't ever see himself reaching up to his own nose, feeling cartilage grinding together as he snaps it back into place. 

Lance shudders and gags, changing the subject, his hand tightening around Keith's on reflex.

“Well then I hope you've got a pen in those boots of yours cause you're gonna have to inflate my lung when it collapses.” He means it to be off-hand, teasing, but Keith’s face looks crestfallen and he knows he hasn't pulled it off. 

Keith's grip around his hand tightens and Lance strokes a thumb across his knuckles in apology. He can feel something sharp scraping against his lungs with every breath and isn't that a new feeling, to have an itch  _ inside  _ him that he can’t scratch. 

A sudden thought strikes Lance and he tries so hard not to laugh, curling in on himself to try and avoid the pain, his body wound tight, a smile on his face even as everything burns and he chokes on the hot coals spilling up inside him.

“Lance?” He can hear panic rising in Keith's voice and turns to smile at him, his voice breathy with a complex knot of pain and laughter, pulse hammering in his ears. 

“We- we're having a...bonding...moment,” Lance gasps breathily, thumb still stroking along Keith's knuckles like it's the only thing keeping him grounded through the pain even as tears wet his lashes.

Emotion wars across Keith's face, a mix of worry, amusement, and a brief flicker of outrage. 

He finally settles on something wry. “You do remember. Asshole.” He squeezes Lance's hand again and finally the laughter subsides long enough for Lance to uncurl and sag against the bars with relief. 

“Oh god,” he breathes, “laughing sucks.” It takes him a moment to catch his breath. 

There's still a smile on his lips and fire in his lungs as the pain lets him go for a moment, his eyes finding Keith’s.

“Yeah,” he drawls in apology, thinking back to Sendak’s first attack on the castle. “Sorry.”

Keith studies him a moment, confusion in his dark eyes. “Why did you say you didn't?” He sounds so vulnerable Lance aches for a whole new reason and he holds Keith’s hand tighter, afraid he’ll pull away and Lance needs him now.

“I was scared,” he admits, eyes heavy. He feels like he's wearing a cloak of iron. All his limbs are heavy and it's hard to muster the energy to move. Either it's the exhaustion that's making him honest or the pain. Either way he doesn't see the point in lying about it anymore.

He can feel Keith's eyes on him, see that furrow he gets between his brows when he’s confused from the corner of his eye. 

“Of what?”

Lance manages another smile and tilts his head towards Keith.

“You.”

Keith actually looks offended, startling back at the confession.

“Me? Why would you be scared of me?” 

And oh how Lance wants to laugh at that. His eyes sparkle with mirth and a smile pulls at his lips but the pain in his chest steals the breath from his lungs before it can go any further.

“You scare the hell out of me Keith.” His words are shallow with pain, breathy, and some distant part of Lance thinks it makes the moment far more intimate than it has any right to be. 

“I'm...sorry?” He tries to pull his hand away but Lance does his best to hang on, shaking his head and swallowing thickly. 

“Nah, don’t be. You scare me cause I want you.” And oh boy he hadn't meant to say that out loud. He hurts too much to care, too much to regret the words, too much to feel self-conscious about them. Instead he lets his eyes slide closed, his head lolling against the bars.

“So why do you…” Keith bites his lip feeling incredibly out of his element. “Why do we fight all the time?” he asks, desperately seeking an answer. 

“You are so far out of my league,” Lance manages through the haze of pain he's in, the thick cotton wrapping around his mind. “I don't know how else to deal.” 

“I'm not,” Keith rushes to say, his fingers tight around Lance's. “I'm really not.” 

A smile pulls at the side of Lance's mouth. “I'd love to have this conversation, but I think I'm passing out.” 

“Lay down.” Like a flash Keith is all business again. “Before you fall over and make it worse.” 

Lance nods, putting up a mental barrier for the impending pain and forces himself to move. His eyes burn as he forces himself down, Keith's arm stretching around his back in support through the bars and Lance sends a silent thank you at him. 

When he's finally lying limp against the cold stone and straw in his cell he lets out a breath of relief, his hand reaching blindly for Keith's again. A moment later he feels the comforting weight of Keith's hand in his and everything is slightly less terrifying than before. 

He's covered in a sheen of sweat and for the millionth time he wishes he could stop breathing, body shuddering with the strain. 

“You think- think they know?” he asks. “That we're- paladins?” He turns his head to look at Keith and realizes he's laid down next to him, pressed as close to the bars as he can get. Lance wishes he had the strength to move closer. 

Keith's thumb moves in idle patterns across Lance's skin as he thinks before shaking his head. 

“We didn't have our armor on when they took us. We were just another set of faces in the crowd.”

“So why…?” 

Keith catalogues the blood and bruises Lance is covered in and scowls. “Because they can.”

Lance's mouth purses like he's bitten into something sour. “I think I like the Galra more then.”

Keith’s startled by the bitter laugh that bursts from him. “Why?”

Lance blinks a few times, like he's trying to clear his vision and Keith's fingers tighten reflexively. Lance takes a moment to swallow thickly, his dry throat clicking. 

“Because...as terrible as they are, at least the pain they inflict on people is with purpose,” he says, the words slow and sluggish. “They do it because they want something. These…” He lifts his free hand and gestures vaguely. “People do it for fun. Like an animal that kills its prey...for the sake of the chase...the adrenaline, the kill. Not for food, or survival; for fun.” He closes his eyes in a wince and Keith wants to reach through the bars to wipe the sweat from his brow. “That makes them so much more dangerous.” 

“Why?”

It takes Lance a moment to respond and Keith berates himself for making Lance keep talking when it so obviously hurts him, but Keith is selfish. He needs to hear Lance's voice to know he's okay. Silence could mean too many things he isn't ready to entertain, especially not now. 

“Because...with the Galra we have a bargaining chip. They can't kill us.” His eyes blink open and when they focus on Keith they're glassy. “These people don't give a shit.” 

Keith bites the inside of his cheek to keep from asking more questions just for the sake of hearing Lance's voice. 

“Go to sleep Lance.”

A wry smile pulls at Lance's mouth. “You gonna be here when I wake up?” he asks as if this is nothing more than pillow-talk, asking if now that the party’s over if Keith will stay.

Keith wants to ask if Lance is going to wake up at all but he can't bring himself to, so instead he nods and when he speaks his voice is raw. 

“Yeah, now go to sleep.”

Lance nods, his head tilting to rest against the stone, face still turned towards Keith, mind and vision fuzzy. “'kay.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suuuuuuper small chapter, but more pain. 💋

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More pain as Lance fades in and out of consciousness.

Lance feels like he's underwater. Everything is far away, distorted, hard to make out. Someone is shouting but it's hard to think through the haze of pain and sleep, the cold, dead weight of exhaustion dragging him back down. Distantly he realizes the voice is Keith and he reaches for it on reflex, beginning to surface through the blanket of sleep.

“-take me,” Keith is snapping, his rage coiled and twisted into a hard point and Lance smiles. He'd hate to be whatever is on the other end of Keith's rage. He almost feels sorry for whoever had pissed him off like that, voices dipping in and out.

“You wanna...somebody try me.” Lance can feel Keith's energy coiled like a snake, waiting to strike, for someone to just get close enough… He hears a scuffle and a shout of pain that's the wrong octave to be Keith and he smiles again. Like a rat in a trap.

 It sounds like someone's head bounces off metal and there's a shout of pain and anger, words Lance doesn't understand without his translator. He hears the snap of electricity, keys in a lock, a cry of pain that  _ is _ from Keith and Lance surfaces through the waves of sleep. His vision swims and he blinks blearily but it's hard to stay awake. He hears the dull impacts of fists on flesh and tries to turn his head to look, but his neck feels like a rusted knob and it takes too long.

 The sounds of a scuffle die and the door clangs shut. 

“...eith,” Lance rasps through a dry throat, finally managing to turn his head but the cell next to him is empty. He can't remember why that's important.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a god awful day. It feels like a week has passed the last two days.

Lance hears them before he sees them, their footsteps, the heavy drag of something between them, the jangle of rusted keys, the rustling of fabric. He wakes just as Keith's semi-conscious body is tossed back into the cell beside him. Lance doesn't move as the door shuts and the two men who’d been carrying him walk off without a word. 

Everything hurts. Keith feels like there's an army of ants crawling under his skin and he shivers, dragging a breath in past his teeth. He feels like he's been taken apart and put back together wrong, like he doesn't fit in his skin anymore. It’s a unique kind of pain he hadn't been ready for.

“Keith?” 

He blinks his eyes open through sweat to look at Lance and somehow it helps. He’s still shaking, feeling flushed and cold all at once, skin stretched tight and swollen like a blister. He itches all over.

Lance stretches a hand through the bars towards him and Keith's hand shakes, but he takes it. He uses the heat and weight of Lance's palm against his to ground himself, taking slow, deep breaths until it feels like he isn't going to vomit up his own insides anymore. 

He isn’t sure how long it takes but Lance waits, somehow managing to be forever patient in a way he didn’t use to be. Or maybe he and Keith have always just been bad for each other, bringing out the worst in one another. He doesn’t know when that changed either. 

Keith’s body hurts. The cold stone feels good against his cheek but his nose is throbbing. He rolls onto his back, trying to elevate his head and takes the opportunity to scoot closer to the bars between them. 

“What happened?” Lance whispers and after several slow breaths Keith shakes his head. He doesn't know what they did to him but he feels wrong. He doesn't want to hazard a guess at what they've done. 

“Talk to me,” Keith rasps instead, wishing there was water. His bones feel like they’ve been shattered and haphazardly stuck back together. He’s afraid any movement will break them apart again.

“It helps.” 

Keith doesn't have the strength to lace their fingers together but he stretches them out and Lance's fall between his and it's close enough. 

Lance is quiet for a moment and Keith feels like it lasts an eternity. 

“I hated being a fighter pilot,” he confesses. Whatever Keith had been expecting him to say it wasn't that and he blinks his eyes open. 

“I thought it was what I'd wanted,” Lance goes on, saying what Keith had been thinking. “I was so excited. And then it just...it wasn't.” He shrugs like somehow this is normal, wincing when the movement jostles his ribs. His smile is self-deprecating when Keith looks at him.

“Happens a lot.” Lance’s tone is casual, dismissive even, like it's become a usual thing he's gotten used to. “I finally get what I want and it's disappointing.” His thumb strokes along Keith's hand. “It always leaves me feeling unsatisfied. Like I enjoy the chase more than having the thing itself.” Lance stares at their intertwined hands for a moment before looking up at Keith. 

“I hate it.” Keith opens his eyes again, searching for the blue of Lance's in the dark.

“It makes chasing more important things terrifying,” he says and it feels like a confession. “Because what if I finally get them and the same thing happens?” His eyes dart between Keith’s. 

“What if I only think I want it?” Keith feels like they aren't talking about being fighter pilots anymore but he's having trouble following Lance's train of thought. 

“So why did you join the Garrison?” Keith asks and his lungs feel like they're made of sandpaper. Even his teeth ache.

Lance somehow manages to convey a shrug with his lips. 

“Thought it was what I wanted. They're great at advertising, I'll give them that,” he says and his tone is bitter. “But the program sucks.” Lance turns his head to stare at the ceiling. 

“Action, adventure, a trip to space, a chance to protect my family and friends, defend my country.” Lance smiles but it's all teeth and there's tension in his shoulders.

“Looks like I got exactly what I wanted.” He turns his head to Keith.

“And I nearly failed out, wishing I'd never been elevated to fighter class. I never saw my family and realized I was learning to hurt people and was supposed to be proud of it.” 

Lance winces. “Turns out I'm good at it.” There's something like self-loathing that crosses Lance's face and Keith's fingers curl around his in response. 

“All I wanted the night you came flying back into my life was to go home,” Lance says softly. “To play chess with my  _ Abuelita _ again...to teach my nieflings to dance in the streets on summer nights, to stop seeing things through the eyes of the soldier the Garrison made me into. But I can't.” He looks so crestfallen Keith rolls onto his side and reaches his free arm through the bars, knuckles brushing against Lance's forehead. 

“I'm tired of hurting people,” Lance whispers, curling into Keith's touch. “I just want to go home.” He closes his eyes, the expression pained.

“'m gonna get you home Lance,” Keith slurs, “Promise.” He weakly brushes a lock of hair off Lance's forehead with a finger. “'m gonna get you home.” Lance covers his other hand with his own. 

He holds Keith's palm trapped against his cheek, savoring the feel of it. “Only if you come with me,” he murmurs.

Keith is too tired and hurt to argue.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reprieve. The boys make a friend.

Lance wakes to a soft tapping against the bars. It's a shy, tentative sound but insistent and Lance lets it rouse him. He manages to lift his head and blink at the alien crouched against the door of his cell. 

Meeting his eyes and realizing Lance is awake the alien reaches around and pulls what looks like a leather wineskin out, passing it through the bars. His head lifts, eyes darting around to see if anyone is watching. 

“Keith,” Lance rasps out, clearing his throat and trying again. “Keith.” He tugs on Keith's hand and Keith finally snaps awake. 

“What?”

“We've got company.”

The alien looks between the two of them, the wineskin still held aloft. When neither of them move he tosses it at Lance's feet. 

Too hurt to sit up Lance pulls it closer using a foot. He opens it and takes a careful sniff.

“What is it?” Keith asks, eyes still on the alien as if assessing a threat.

“I think it's water.” Lance takes a cautious sip and then takes a long drink, gasping with relief when the water soothes his raw throat. 

The alien smiles and nods, urging him to drink more, miming with his hands. Lance passes the skin to Keith instead and he takes a long drink, body sagging with relief before passing it back. 

“Thank you,” Lance says, trying to press as much gratitude into his voice as possible. The alien nods again and says something neither of them understand, gesturing to Lance's pile of straw. He mimes burying something and Lance does his best to pile up the straw in the corner, stuffing the water skin underneath to hide it without jostling his ribs too much. He smiles at their new friend who taps his chest with a three fingered hand.

“Alcor,” he says, his voice clicking with a low bird-like chirp and Lance echoes the name back to him. 

Alcor’s face wrinkles at what Lance assumes is his pronunciation and he says it again, this time popping the k in the back of his throat. There's a low gravel to his voice Lance can't possibly mimic but he does his best and receives a wide smile in return. 

“Lance,” he says gesturing carefully at himself. 

“Laaanssss,” Alcor says and Lance grins. 

“Close enough.”

Alcor shuffles on his feet, knees pressed to his chest and grips the bars, turning and staring at Keith expectantly, dark eyes wide and bright.

Keith darts a suspicious look at Lance. 

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” he hisses and Lance shrugs, hissing when it ignites the fire in his chest, resting one hand gently over the pain as if it will help. 

“At least he's friendly.”

Keith frowns but doesn't argue. He taps his chest the same way Alcor did and says his name. 

“Keith.”

Alcor frowns at the name and Keith says it again watching as Alcor's mouth works silently in frustration before he speaks, stumbling over the name.

“Kee-t.” He frowns and looks at Keith expectantly.

“Keith,” he repeats slowly, his voice low and patient in a way that makes Lance smile. 

Alcor tries again, drawing out the sounds carefully but seems less than satisfied with his own pronunciation.

Lance studies him, at the lipless face and frowns. 

“I don't think their vocal chords are able to produce the same sounds we can. He's very bird-like, I'm not surprised he's having trouble with your name.”

Keith shrugs. “Keet it is then,” he mumbles. He taps his chest drawing Alcor's attention from where he'd been watching them interact. 

“Keet,” he says and Alcor seems delighted by the compromise.

There’s a distant clang and Alcor starts, eyes wide. He glances between the boys before darting away, vanishing into the shadows. Lance makes note that his footsteps on the stone are soundless as he goes.

He smiles. “I think we just made a friend.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to your regularly scheduled pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh I’m a dumbass. Apparently I had two copies of chapter five for whatever reason. So we’re almost done!

Lance can feel the fluid bubbling in his lungs. It feels like a star has been lodged in his chest, white-hot and searing. It’s almost impossible to breathe. 

He doesn’t know what they do to Keith, knows it’s different than what they do to him, but he always comes back writhing, like every nerve is on fire. With Lance they just beat him. He doesn’t know which is worse. 

“Keith,” he breathes and it feels like glass in his mouth. He isn’t going to last much longer. The cells are dark and he can’t see. 

“I need you...to promise me,” pants. He can hear Keith shift beside him. He’s been terribly quiet since they brought him back. 

“When you get back...to the castle- there’s a box.” He swallows thickly. Everything tastes like blood. “Under my bed.” He knocks his knuckles into the bars, searching blindly for Keith’s hand. 

“It’s- tablets,” he winces. “‘nd letters.” Talking feels harder than it should. “Get them to my family.” 

“What are you talking about?” Keith’s voice is thin and thready. He rolls towards the bars and Lance’s searching hand finds his face. 

“Need them to know...where I was, what I’ve been-” He trails off, dragging in as deep a breath as he can. The sound shudders and rasps, the itch in his lungs making him wheeze. “I didn’t abandon them.” 

“Lance.” Keith’s voice is firm, bordering on angry as he takes Lance's hand. “We’re getting home. I’m going to get you home. I already promised you that.” 

Lance wants to laugh but he can’t. There are tears in his eyes. 

“Please,” he rasps, clutching at Keith, desperate to make him understand. He grasps at his own chest, trying not to claw his lungs out as he drowns in his own blood.

“I can’t- need to know...that it’s gonna get to them.” Keith doesn’t like the way Lance is talking. 

“You’re going to be fine.”

“Keith...I have a perforated lung,” he rasps, feeling the fluid in his lungs gurgle with every breath.

“Ooh perforated.” The tease rolls off Keith’s tongue and it feels normal in a way that makes Lance want to cry. “Big word McClain.”

In spite of everything Lance smiles. 

“Yeah?” he rasps. “How about...this one: Traumatic...pneumo...thorax.” He can feel the urge to cough tickling at the back of his throat and struggles to swallow it down.

“Traumatic what now?” Keith says and Lance can feel his startled blink in the dark. 

He lays a hand over the burning pain in his chest. 

“Punctured lung,” he replies softly. “My brother was a- nurse...picked up a thing or two.” 

They lapse into silence, Lance counting the seconds, wondering how long it’ll take for his lung to collapse. 

Keith rolls against the bars, both hands reaching for Lance and Lance shuffles closer, pressing his forehead as close to Keith’s as he can without twisting at the waist.

“I wish I’d told you sooner,” Lance rasps, every word punctuated by a shallow breath and he can feel Keith flinch. 

“No, don’t do that. Don’t-” Keith presses a hand to Lance’s cheek and takes a shuddering breath. 

“‘m dying.” 

“Stop it,” Keith snaps, as if by denying it will make it true. “We’re getting back to Earth, you wanna know why?” He strokes a thumb across Lance’s cheek, and Lance feels a long nail scratching against his skin. “Because I have to show you the sunset.” His voice is low and intimate but intense and Lance closes his eyes, letting himself imagine what that might be like. 

“We’re gonna sit on top of my shack at one in the morning all wrapped up in a blanket with mugs of tea or hot chocolate or whatever,” he goes on, fear and anger coating his words. “And we’re gonna look at the stars and we’ll see who can name the most constellations or some stupid shit and fight over it because that’s what we do.

“And then we’re gonna watch the sunrise and I’m finally going to be brave enough to kiss you.” 

Lance can hear the tears in Keith’s voice, feel the desperation in his hands as they stroke over Lance’s face but he can’t find the strength to speak. He kisses Keith’s fingers, pressing the hand cradling his face to his cheek, trapping and holding it there. His fingers feel cold and numb or maybe Keith’s skin is just scorching.

“And I have to show you the dust storms that come screaming in over the desert, whiting everything out like snow,” Keith goes on, his voice thick. “It’s beautiful and terrifying and you have to see it to believe it. 

“And I want to share that with you.” He takes a deep breath. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything. So you have to make it back okay? You have to be okay because I don’t know how to do this without you.” He presses his fingers against Lance’s cheek, willing him to hold on, tears strangling him. “I promised I was gonna get you home.”

Lance lets his hand rest weakly against the side of Keith’s face and Keith tucks his cheek into the palm as Lance draws shallow breaths.

“You’ll be fine.” A smile flickers across Lance’s mouth. “Always were.” His breath rasps thinly, his lids flickering like it’s hard to keep his eyes open. “...already home.”

That’s not what Keith wants to hear and he chokes on a sob, desperate to pull Lance closer. 

“God I want to kiss you.”

Lance presses his forehead against the bars, feeling Keith's breath on his face. “So kiss me,” he whispers, lifting his chin into the space between them as best he can. 

A smile pulls at his mouth, a barb rising on his tongue he can't help. Maybe it's habit, maybe it's delight at knowing Keith will rise to the challenge.

“Or are you all talk?”

Keith reaches for him like he can see so clearly in the dark, unlike Lance who’s rendered blind. Lance hears him shifting, senses the weight of Keith looming over him as he does and a moment later Keith slants his mouth across Lance’s between the bars as best he can. 

The kiss is bitter and desperate and tainted with fear but it’s the best thing Lance has felt since they were taken. 

He catches Keith’s lower lip between his teeth and nips it, smoothing his tongue over it in an apology he doesn't mean. Keith draws in a long breath, pressing his bruised face up against the bars, heedless of the discomfort until he bangs his nose and pulls back with a hiss. 

Lance whines at the loss of contact, his breath coming in panting gasps. He curses the bars separating them, wanting nothing more than to pull Keith against him, to feel the heat and weight of his body pressing him into the stone.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?” Keith rasps when his nose has finally stopped throbbing and he's leaning against the bars again, staring at Lance. 

“Since the fucking Garrison.” Lance chokes in surprise, hating that he can't see Keith's face. “God you were beautiful then and you’re beautiful now so don’t you dare go dying on me now that I’ve fucking told you. 

“I want to _actually_ kiss you one of these days,” Keith snaps.

Lance brushes his fingers against Keith’s cheek and smiles. 

“Alright,” he rasps. He swallows thickly, trying to clear his throat, grateful for the water Alcor had smuggled them. “Alright…’m not dying on you.” Keith can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve got...too much to live for now.” Lance wonders if Keith can hear how empty a promise it is.

~

It isn’t until the morning light comes filtering into the cells that Lance realizes what the aliens who’ve captured them are doing to Keith. He vaguely remembers the feeling of long nails against his cheek last night but in the light he can see the Galran claws Keith is now sporting. With them comes a set of fangs and a faint pointing to his ears that wasn’t there before.

The changes are subtle so far but the idea of someone manipulating Keith’s DNA isn’t a thought that sits well with Lance. He runs a thumb against Keith’s hand and Keith blinks his eyes open.

Lance’s face falls at the sight of yellow eyes, pupils slitted against the light and Keith tries to pull away knowing what he looks like. Lance’s fingers curl weakly around his and he makes a sound of protest that freezes Keith in place. His eyes flick up to meet Lance’s and they’re different but familiar, the deep violet replaced with a brilliant yellow-gold.

“Sorry,” Keith apologizes, words a little awkward around his changing teeth and Lance frowns. 

“For what?”

Keith doesn’t know, just knows that he’s sorry. He curls in on himself and Lance pushes his dark hair away from his face, brushing his knuckles over Keith’s cheek and Keith’s eyes flick up to meet his through thick lashes.

Lance strokes Keith’s cheek, studying his features, seeking the familiar amid the strange. “...miss the purple,” he mumbles slowly, working his fingers through Keith's hair. “But still the most beautiful thing...ever seen.” 

Keith’s cheek warms under his hand and Lance smiles. He’s so tired. 

Keith is about to say something when an alarm goes off, the sound echoing painfully around the room and inside his head. A moment later the lights cut out. 

There are shouts and sounds of a scuffle. A number of shots echo and then silence. Keith pulls himself to his feet, peering out between the bars. A number of hooded figures stride out of the dark with a ring of keys and they head for Lance’s cell. 

“Leave him alone,” Keith chokes but the figures ignore him. He lunges at the nearest through the bars, swiping at them with his claws. He bares his teeth with a growl but the figures dance out of the way, one of them hissing at him in response. 

They yank open Lance’s cell and he’s too hurt to fight them off. 

“No!” Keith slams himself into the bars, trying to tear his way through to Lance, as the strangers haul him to his feet.

“No!”

Lance’s ribs shift and he starts to cough, breaths shallow and ragged and wet and Keith has to watch as his eyes go wide with fear, unable to draw a deep enough breath as his lung collapses. 

“You’re killing him!” Keith thrashes against the bars as they drag Lance from the cell, blood beginning to spatter from his lips with every cough and cold terror grips Keith’s heart. Pain blossoms across his chest and shoulders as he bodily throws himself against the bars with a shout, forced to watch as they lay Lance on the floor outside the cell, all of them converging on his body, hoods pressed together and hiding Lance from his view as he continues to cough, thick and wet.

As Keith shouts one of the figures rushes over, pushing back its hood and Keith recognizes Alcor. 

“He’s dying,” Keith chokes, eyes filled with tears. “Please. You have to help him. I can’t- I can’t lose him.”

Alcor covers Keith’s hands with his own, patting them gently. 

“Lanssss,” he says, the name rolling softly from his tongue and Keith nods. 

“Help him. His ribs...he can’t breathe.”

Alcor pats Keith’s hand reassuringly. “Hal-p.” He nods several times and pats his chest. “Hal-p.” He struggles with the p on the end but Keith understands and sags against the bars with a wince. He’s going to have some gnarly bruises. Alcor’s hands pat over Keith’s waist and ribs, prodding at his face curiously, looking at the purple cast to his skin, pushing his lip away from his teeth. 

He tilts his head, dark eyes blinking and Keith can’t help the bird-like comparison his brain makes. 

“Keet?” he asks, tongue clicking curiously like he isn’t sure it really is Keith.

“Yeah,” Keith’s breathes. “They did something to me.”

Alcor frowns and turns to chatter at the collected figures still converged over Lance. They exchange a number of words, one of them tossing the ring of keys at Alcor dismissively before turning back to their work. Lance has fallen silent. 

Alcor spends the next few minutes looking for the right key before unlocking the door and drawing Keith out. He goes to move towards Lance but stumbles and Alcor catches him, saying something Keith doesn’t understand before trying to pull him away. Keith fights him but every joint in his body aches and it’s hard to stand. 

Alcor tugs his hand, drawing him further down the hall and away from Lance. 

“Hal-p,” Alcor says, tugging his hand again. Keith looks over his shoulder at Lance, terror still gripping him. 

“Safe.” The word comes out mangled but it’s enough to coax Keith into going with him, leaving Lance to what he assumes are a number of rebels. He hopes it’s not a mistake. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Officially cleaned up

Lance doesn’t expect to wake up again. When he does it’s to find he’s lying in a bed instead of a dingy cell, Keith’s hand tangled with his. For a moment he thinks he must be dead. And then Keith smiles. 

“Hey.” His sits up, thumb stroking over Lance’s knuckles when he sees he’s awake. 

Lance nearly cries when he realizes he can take a deep breath without pain and it takes him a moment to gather himself. 

“What happened?”

“Remember that friend we made?” Keith says. “From what I can piece together he’s a rebel. He got us out.”

Lance flicks the tip of Keith’s hair, making the dark lock sway. “You look better.” And he does. He seems entirely back to normal, his broken nose healed, only the shadow of bruises under his eyes now. 

He smiles and ducks his head. “Yeah, they were able to reverse whatever it was that machine was doing to me.” It took a number of sessions but his Galran genes are once again recessive and the pain is gone. 

Lance grins. “So you’re okay?”

Keith nods, a small smile pulling at his mouth. “So I’m okay.” 

A deep breath slips out of Lance and he sinks into the bed beneath him with relief. “Good. That’s good.” His eyes snap open a moment later. “Not that I wouldn’t still want you,” he says hurriedly making both of them blush. “You’re cute with fangs and shit I just-” He goes red and Keith laughs. 

“You’re sweet.” His smile is soft, dark hair slipping over his cheek and he squeezes Lance’s hand. “I’m glad too.” 

Lance smiles awkwardly. “Didn’t want you to be in chronic pain,” He says softly. “That was what I was afraid of.” He searches Keith’s eyes, back to their beautiful violet. “Not that I thought you were a monster. I never did. I just need you to know that.” An awkward tension builds between them. They’re not dying anymore and Lance isn’t sure where they stand. 

“They were able to put you back together too.” Keith tries to smile but it turns brittle and his face goes a little ashen. “You stopped breathing.” His voice goes tight. “And your lung collapsed when they carried you out of the cell. I don’t know what they did but…” He squeezes Lance’s hand. “You’re okay right?” 

Lance presses his free hand over his ribs. “Yeah, I’m okay. I can feel it.” He tips his head in Keith’s direction. “Doesn’t hurt any more.” 

A deep weight lifts from Keith’s shoulders and he sags much the same way Lance had when he found out Keith was alright. Lance’s eyes drift shut and for the moment Keith is content to watch him, but a question is burning in his mouth. The same one that’s been plaguing him since he heard Lance was awake. It isn’t very long before it spills free.

 “What are we?” he asks softly and Lance opens his eyes. They’re bluer than Keith remembers. Or maybe he’d never appreciated them before. 

“What does this make us?” Keith doesn’t let go of Lance’s hand as he asks. If anything he holds on tighter, an anxious crease between his brows.

Lance stares at him. “Wow, just uh, jumpin right in huh?” Lance scratches at his hair, his heart skipping. His ears turn bright red and Keith can’t help finding it adorable. Lance’s fingers twitch in Keith’s hand but when Keith tries to pull away he holds on tighter. 

“Answer the question,” Keith pleads, voice hardly more than a breath, palms beginning to sweat. 

“I don’t know.” Lance glances at him, trying to see Keith from behind the veil of bangs he’s ducked his head to hide behind. “What do you want us to be?” 

Lance’s cheek presses into the pillow, thumb stroking over Keith’s hand. 

“You did promise to kiss me again,” Lance says softly, eyes half-lidded and tired. He presses on when Keith doesn’t answer, shaking their hands loosely, trying to get his attention. “I’d like that to be a thing.” 

Keith blushes, fingers restless where they hold Lance’s hand and Lance can see a smile stretching his lips upward, the anxiety in his shoulders easing. 

“Yeah,” he admits, fingers flexing in Lance’s, “me too.”

“I wouldn’t mind dinner and a date either,” Lance suggests, trying to give Keith a lifeline. 

Keith squeezes his hand, peeking up at him. That smile pulls further across his mouth as he ducks his head and Lance’s heart skips. Keith is beautiful when he smiles. 

Lance can see the tips of his ears go red, pleased they’re back to normal. If it weren’t for the fact he’d have to let Keith’s hand go he’d reach up to run his fingers over the gentle curve, flushed and rosy. 

“I can do that.” He finally picks his head up and when Lance gets a look at that smile full force he loses his breath all over again. 

Lance grins and tugs Keith’s hand. “Come here.”

Keith is still curled into himself but he slowly stands and leans over the bed, Lance arching up off the mattress to the best of his ability, chin lifted in open invitation. Keith’s free hand comes up to rest against Lance’s cheek, featherlight and shy as he leans in for a kiss. 

It’s just as timid as the hand on his cheek and Lance wants more. Timid and shy are not things he associates with Keith. Now that his ribs aren’t shattered and there isn’t a set of bars separating them, Lance desperately wants to feel Keith against him simply because he can and Keith is touching him like he’s afraid Lance will break. 

Lance curls his fingers into Keith’s borrowed shirt, yanking him forward and Keith’s hand hits the bed to catch his balance. His eyes are wide and startled as he nearly falls on top of him, struggling to catch himself. Their chests are flush and they’re almost lying in the bed together, Lance looking very pleased with himself.

They break apart to laugh, resting against one another, the tension rolling from Keith’s shoulders and he sags into Lance, draped half in, half out of the bed. 

“You’re too far away,” Lance whispers against his mouth, grip tightening in his shirt. He can feel Keith smile.

“‘m not gonna break,” he promises, words ghosting over Keith’s lips. “They fixed me remember?”

Keith pulls back, putting even more distance between them and Lance sulks but lets Keith tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. 

“Are you sure?” Keith can’t move very far with Lance’s hand still stubbornly wrapped in his shirt, firm and demanding. 

“The only thing I’m sure of is how badly I want you on top of me right now.” Lance doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed as he says it. 

As if to prove a point he levers himself upright, eyes determined, pressing into Keith’s space. 

“Now  _ kiss  _ me.” 

Keith closes the distance between them hard and fast, kissing Lance like he’d meant to the other night, all lips and tongue and teeth, gripping him tight now that nothing’s stopping him. Lance hums into his mouth in approval when Keith lays him back down, letting himself be drawn up onto the bed. Lance spreads his knees to let him settle between them, one hand sliding under Keith’s shirt and over his spine, pulling him down, savoring the feel of hot skin finally under his fingers. 

Keith dips his tongue into Lance’s mouth a little at a time, teasing, Lance responding with a scolding bite that makes him gasp. 

“Do not tease me right now Kogane,” he hisses, the fingers he had tangled in Keith’s hair tightening. 

“Bossy,” he snaps back, voice still low and before Lance can get another word out Keith sinks his teeth into Lance’s throat. He whines, arching upward as his hands pull Keith closer and Keith yanks Lance’s shirt up, palming his ribs. He savors the feel of Lance, where broken bones have been made whole. His touch is firm, like he’s trying to press hard enough to hurt, just to make sure it doesn’t and it’s exactly what Lance needs. 

Keith kisses his way down to Lance’s chest, still biting. He’s unable to really stop, searching out the feel of Lance’s pulse against his tongue, real and heavy and alive. 

His forehead rests against Lance’s sternum over his heart, feeling it beat, one hand still pressed to his ribs, feeling him breathe, thick and deep. Keith shivers, unable to pull away, to stop listening. 

“Keith?” Lance’s hands hover in his hair, not sure what’s wrong. 

“Really glad you’re alive,” he rasps. Lance’s expression melts into something softer and Lance tugs on him gently. Keith lets himself be drawn back upwards. Lance kisses him sweetly. 

“Me too.” He wraps Keith in a tangle of arms and legs, hugging him. Keith is more than happy to make himself at home there, taking the time to just breathe, the two of them resting against one another. But in silence doubt creeps in, things they’ve talked about surfacing and choking the flowers in Keith’s heart with thorns, smothering his happiness. 

“Now that you’ve got me,” Keith says slowly, the thorns tightening. His mouth twists like he’s afraid and Lance tips his head curiously. “Are you disappointed?” he finally gets out. 

Lance looks horrified and then remembers the conversation they’d had, about chasing things and losing interest once he has them. His features crease with determination, the line of his mouth going hard. 

The bed is wide, built to accommodate someone with more arms than them so when Lance rolls them he has the room to do so. His weight rests firmly against Keith’s hips, pinning him there. Keith’s mouth is firm but his eyes are bright and nervous, fingers twitching against the mattress. Lance doesn’t like that Keith has stopped touching him. 

“I could never be disappointed with you,” Lance says, slow and sure. He leans down, skimming his lips over Keith’s cheek to his ear, taking his time, finding what makes him shiver and whine. 

“Having you...is so much better than chasing you,” he murmurs into Keith’s ear when he gets there, pleased when Keith’s fingers come to rest on his waist again. They flex restlessly, Keith’s body shifting in little movements beneath him, unable to keep still.

“I can’t believe I was ever scared otherwise,” Lance says. “You are so worth catching.”

He brushes Keith’s hair back, kissing his ear and then paying special attention to it when Keith gasps, pulling the lobe into his mouth, nipping at it carefully. He flicks his tongue over the shell before kissing the tender skin of his throat beneath it. 

Lance drops kisses to whatever parts of Keith he can reach because he can, because there are no more bars separating them, taking his time. His hands never stop moving, never stop touching, seeking out all the places he couldn’t reach before and Keith melts under him. 

“Thought you wanted me to be the one on top,” Keith says and he’s breathless, a smile on his face. 

“Mmm, you’re right. Switch.” 

Keith laughs, wrapping Lance in his arms as they maneuver and Lance bodily hauls Keith back on top of him, making happy little noises as Keith’s weight settles into him again. 

“Can you even breathe?” he murmurs when he’s afraid his weight is crushing Lance.

“Don’t care.” He pulls Keith’s hair away from his face, smoothing it down and Keith tucks his face to Lance’s throat with a deeply contented sigh. 

“Don’t want to let you go,” Lance whispers, still running his fingers through Keith’s hair.

Keith’s grip on Lance tightens. “Then don’t.”

The door opens and Keith flinches, startling away from Lance who has other ideas. His grip on Keith tightens stubbornly and he kisses him, ignoring the rebel who’s walked into the room. Keith finally relaxes into the embrace, if only marginally and Lance pulls away. He holds Keith’s eyes from a breath away.

“If you want to go you can,” he says softly. “But nothing would make me happier to have you stay right where you are.”

Keith is bright red, mortified, and buries his burning face in Lance’s chest with a groan. He can’t see it but he can practically feel Lance’s smile.

Lance gives him a squeeze, hand stroking over Keith’s back as he looks to their doctor.

“Hi.” He waves in greeting, the rebel mimicking the motion in an over exuberant kind of way. Without their helmets they can’t really communicate but they’re doing their best.

_ “Is that Lance?” _

Keith lifts his head as a tinny version of Pidge’s voice drifts up from the tablet in the doctor’s hands. 

“Pidge?”

_ “Keith?” _ That one’s Hunk.

The rebel passes them the tablet and the faces of all the paladins appear on the screen, Lance lighting up at the sight of them. 

“Hey guys!”

There’s a chorus of greetings all around, Keith, pressing his elbow into the bed by Lance’s chest for better leverage so he can sit up. Lance strokes his heel up Keith’s calf, making him blush. 

_ “Are you guys cuddling?” _ Hunk grins teasingly and Lance can feel Keith tense where they’re still tangled together but he doesn’t pull away.

In spite of Lance’s sheer delight at having Keith in his arms his eyes are hard but polite. His one arm around Keith tightens, asking him to stay. 

Remembering the way they’d tried to manipulate Keith’s genetics, drawing out his recessive Galran genes Lance drops his eyes to Keith’s, seeking out familiar purple. He lets a finger flick over the crest of Keith’s ear, glad they’re no longer strangely pointed before dropping it back to Keith’s waist. He’d take Keith anyway he could get him, but Lance likes him just the way he is.

He looks back to the screen, Shiro watching him watch Keith intently, one eyebrow lifting slowly.

“Yes,” Lance says firmly in a tone to brookes no teasing. 

Shiro has a rapid, unspoken conversation with Keith, the kind Lance recognizes between siblings and delight flickers in his chest as something in Shiro’s eyes settles into approval.

Pidge frowns, all of them taking in the remnant bruises and injuries Keith and Lance are still covered in, now just vague shadows of all they’ve been through.

_ “Are you guys okay?” _ Pidge asks carefully.  _  “You’ve been gone for-” _

_ “Quite a while,” _ Shiro cuts in.  _ “We’re glad you’re both okay.” _

“We wouldn’t be if-” The door opens again, cutting him off and Lance’s face splits in a blinding grin. 

“Lans!” Alcor cheers, happy to see Lance is doing better. 

“Speak of the devil.” He shifts the tablet over to Keith, both of them adjusting to make room and Lance opens his other arm in invitation. Alcor hurries over, snuggling under Lance’s arm, nuzzling against his cheek in greeting. 

“Everyone, this is Alcor. He saved our lives.” He gives Alcor an affectionate squeeze, pulling him into view of the tablet. A purr-like vibration settles in his throat and Lance grins. 

_ “Well at least they’re friendly,”  _ Hunk says. 

“Oh!” Lances attention snaps to the tablet, both arms occupied with cuddles. “Could you guys ask them to keep an eye out for Keith’s gloves? They got nabbed with the rest of our stuff when we got captured.” 

Hunk nods. _ “Sure.” _

There’s an extended one way conversation between Alcor and the team thanks to translators but one Lance still can’t follow without his helmet. He slowly tunes it out until they’re saying goodbye, Lance making an excuse about being tired which is half true. The others promise to be there to pick them up soon before signing off. 

Alcor takes the tablet from Keith, Lance pressing a thankful kiss to his cheek as he does. 

“Thanks buddy.” 

Alcor makes another of those happy chirping noises, patting first Lance and then Keith on the head. 

“Lans,” he purrs. “Keet.” He grins before hurrying from the room, leaving them alone.

The door is barely shut before Keith is turning to ask Lance a question. 

“You’re looking for my gloves?” 

Lance blinks at him, startled. “Well yeah.” 

“Why?”

“Because they’re important to you.” Keith looks shocked that Lance could possibly know that. “Keith you treat them like a holy relic. I don’t have to have context to care. They’re important to you. For whatever reason. So I’m getting them back.” 

Keith grabs him, kissing him. It’s abrupt but sweet and Lance hums into it, one hand coming up to cradle his jaw. 

“Thank you,” Keith whispers when he pulls away. “They were my father’s. They’re all I have left.” His lips press tightly together. “The gloves and my mother’s knife.” 

Lance’s expression goes determined. “Then we really have to get them back.”

Keith’s heart skips and he stares at Lance, trying to memorize him. 

“Are you really tired?” he asks. Lance hums mischievously, rolling them until he’s hovering above Keith who’s startled but pliant. 

“Not tired enough to stop kissing you until they get here.” 

A slow smile spreads over Keith’s face, blooming like a morning glory under the rising sun. 

His fingers pluck at the fabric on Lance’s waist, asking him to come closer. Lance is happy to do so, lowering himself onto Keith who tips his head up, inviting Lance into a kiss.

“Think I can work with that.”


End file.
